First Time
by Rose-teardrop
Summary: James isn't afraid of Silvia, because its not his first time. his first time was with a boy with messy black curls and cat green eyed - it's just that it has only ever happened in his dreams.


James isn't afraid of Silvia, because its not his first time. his first time was with a boy with messy black curls and cat green eyed - it's just that it has only ever happened in his dreams.

Bond always thought - no, _knew _- that he was M's top dog. His loyalties to the crown bordered to obsessive, and his habit of resurrection was legendary within MI6. So when he met Silva, he felt his hackles rise; a dominant defending his position. In between the lines Bond read serious mommy issues - but then again, that was what made orphans the best agents. He didn't flinch as the other blond reached out to touch him; where other people would feel the bite of bile from that vile touch, the agent only felt indifference. Alas he only reached out to unbutton his shirt with a manic glee like a deranged child would pick at a animal's carcass - although his tailor would appreciate the light touch. The clothe was peeled back, exposing the puckered skin where he had gouged out Moneypenny's bullet. The ridges were angry, raised but not inflamed, an ugly reminder of his determination to serve the Crown.

"Ooh! See what she's done to you."

"Well, she never tied me to a chair." The irony of who 'she' could refer to - Eve, M, the Queen.

"Her loss." Silva never took his eyes off Bond's chest, didn't meet Bond's icy stare, as if he was chastising M in his head. His fingers hovered across his clavicle in a way that was almost reverent, and Bond raised an unamused eyebrow at the man's misleading advances.

"Are you sure this is about M?"

Those fingers returned to his neck, following the sternocleidomastoid muscle. "It's about her... and you, and me. You see, we are the last two rats. We can either eat each other... mmm," Silva gives him a meaningful look, "... or eat everyone else."

A sudden thought sparks; Bond can only think of eating one person. A certain messy haired adolescent with cat green eyes who spoke quiet thoughts of melancholic ships. His voice like cotton but bearing the weight of justified arrogance. _And stylish enough for personal statements_, he added in his head. Contrary to interpretation he was not uncomfortably surprised when he met his new Quartermaster, more stunned perhaps. The old Q fed his penchant for explosions - showy - but this new Q added a level of sophistication in the silence of an unexpected kill.

Q's calmness plays counterpart to the turmoil inside James's mind.

Which only made him want to mess him up more. To bring him down to his level, to match the tumultuous emotions that the young man aroused from a place that James almost forgot about.

"How you're trying to remember your training now." Silva's mocking voice at his current predicament, that Bond cannot satisfy the voice in his mind that calls for _the bloody quartermaster to find him_.

But Silva doesn't know what goes on during training. When Q stands right beside him recording data - bullet speed, gun accuracy, whatever he needs James will give it to him. When Q holds out his hand for the weapon and instead finds himself twisted and pinned onto the counter top by the weight of Bond's upper body. The ridge of his bulge rubs into the crack of the Quartermaster's bum while his teeth lay siege on the pale expanse of his neck. A constant throb of _Mineminemine _as Q and Bond both peel their pants off, and the spy wastes no time in claiming what is his.

"What's the regulation to cope with this?"

If 'this' meant the slide of bony hands on his lap which have only known computer keys, then there was no regulation. Intense, forest green gaze flicked up at James - none of that coquettish teasing sort that has begun to feel frivolous to him - as those pale pink lips seal around his girth. With his Quartermaster momentarily silenced the older male takes the opportunity to whisper all the things that would be inconvenient if heard over the public conference system in MI6 Q branch. He wonders if Q enjoys the mental images that accompany his words; he can only hazard a guess at the increase in speed and suction, or the slow spread of wetness upon his length.

"Well, first time for everything."

_Bond smiles_, because Q is such a good dream.

"Hm. What makes you think this is my first time?"


End file.
